


Incandescent

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [38]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>incandescent: adjective: inkənˈdes(ə)nt: passionate or brilliant</p><p>late 18th century: from French, from Latin incandescent- ‘glowing,’ from the verb incandescere, from in- (expressing intensive force) + candescere ‘become white’ (from candidus ‘white’).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incandescent

Incandescent.

It was a word he would never use on the blog, but there were moments when it was the only word that would fully describe the brilliant madman who had become his life. He was searching for a word that would accurately define the detective who was now collapsed on the couch, possibly asleep, more likely reorganizing the sock index in his Mind Palace, when he recalled the moment, that moment when he knew he was lost.

They were heading home after one of Sherlock's favourites: locked room/triple homicide with a side of fraud; naturally ending in a breakneck chase through the city. Sherlock was unusually quiet, hands resting in his lap, head bowed, eyes closed as in prayer. Suddenly, he looked up, and John was struck by the light that was aimed at him.

All he could say was, "Yes. I've always known."

Sherlock nodded and reached for John's hand, kissing it softy, then threading his long, elegant fingers through John's, held on until they reached Baker Street. He let go only to pay the fare, then found his hand again as they made their way upstairs. John expected...he wasn't exactly sure what he expected...once the door was closed, Sherlock lifted John's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, then his wrist...

"I realized tonight, how lost I'd be without you, John. I've been afraid to admit to myself that you are my light, have been since we met. I-"

John looked up into his eyes and smiled, "I know." He removed the scarf, slowly, as Sherlock sighed softly, then unwrapped the Belstaff from his shoulders, slightly damp from the rain, and hung it up. He bent down, untied and slipped off the Italian leather shoes, lining them up carefully by the door. He stood, then took Sherlock's hand. "Your room?" A nod was all Sherlock was capable of as rational thought had all but vanished.

"John?"  
"Mmmmm, huh?"  
"Oh."  
"Just remembering-"

Sherlock reached for John's hand, pulling him out of the chair and with a slight grin felt between John's legs, "Just remembering, hmmm?"

John collapsed against him, vocabulary all but forgotten. "Uhhmmmmm."

Sherlock led him to their room, and recreated their first time, word for word, touch by touch until John moaned his name in that way that sent both of them over the edge. Wordlessly, they curved into each other, as always, Sherlock draped around his blogger, John's back against his chest, fingers entwined as they fell fast asleep.


End file.
